Heavy boots banged down the steep staircase, and then she saw who it was.
Stunk's hairy doorjack stood at the bottom of the steps. His eyes widened and he threw his head back to take a large sniff of air. "You're that wizard's elf girl," he said.
Sophraea bobbed a quick curtsy. He stood directly in her path, no way around him if she wanted to flee back up the stairs. "I'm here with the wizard," she agreed pleasantly while bending down to take a firm grip on the basket's handle. "Setting protections for the house."
"You're poking and prying," answered the servant moving toward her. "Stunk wouldn't like that. He doesn't like elves much, either."
He was a good bit taller than she was and heavy with muscle along his shoulders and barrel chest.
"Stunk knows I'm here," she said, sidestepping a bit so the candle wasn't directly behind her. No need to be any clearer a target than she was.
The doorjack stalked forward, head outthrust. Even in the dim candlelight, Sophraea could see how his bristly beard extended down his neck to disappear under his collar. Little tufts of coarse black hair even sprouted from his ears.
"I see a moon elf," growled the doorjack. "But I smell something else. Something human. Something young. Something scared."
"I am not scared!" Sophraea exclaimed, backing into the shadows. She raised up the basket, which was reassuringly heavy with the broken bricks inside.
The doorjack chuckled. "What are you going to do with the poof of velvet?" he snarled. "Tickle me to death, elf-not-elf girl?"
For a moment, Sophraea was confused. Then she realized no matter what he smelled, the hairy man could only see Gustin's illusion. She clutched the basket more tightly, ready to swing it.
"Come here!" snapped the doorjack and he lunged, one hairy hand outstretched. Sophraea leaped away but the man's black nails caught the edge of her cloak and pulled her back.
"Let go. My master is working for Stunk," she said. And then, remembering the quiet power of Stunk's wife in the hall, she added, "I have Lady Ruellyn's approval and protection!"
The doorjack ignored her protests.
"I know that scent," he muttered, hauling her closer and closer, like a wriggling fish hooked on a line.
She tried to swing the basket, but her cloak entangled her arm and she was off balance. Her feet slipped on the dusty floor as he dragged her toward him.
The basket barely grazed his ribs. He gave a grunt and a yank.
Sophraea twisted around, trying to get more solid footing, but the doorjack was stronger than her. She couldn't pull away. He stretched out one hand and fastened on her arm, pulling so violently that she stumbled. The rough floor scraped her open hands when she tried to catch herself.
The doorjack continued to pull at her, trying to force her down upon the floor. Sophraea twisted, let the loose cape slip around her shoulders, and scrambled to her feet. He held on. The collar cut against her throat. Furious, Sophraea spun toward him and lashed out with one foot. He dodged her kick but the cape slid between his fingers. She was able to back up another step away from him.
"I'll get you!" he growled. He shifted, trying to get a better grip. She pulled one arm free and plunged her hand into the basket. Her fingers clamped around a half brick. Hauling it out, she thrust the brick with all her might at the man's hairy face. It crushed his long nose with a loud snap. The doorjack let go with a wild howl.
Sophraea dropped to the floor and rolled away. Once clear of the villainous servant, she sprang to her feet. She knew he was much stronger, but so were her brothers. Through the years she had learned that her small size let her dodge more quickly than a large man. As long as she could stay out of his grasp, she had a chance. Her best defense was to stay beyond his reach.
He staggered back and forth, both hands clapped over the center of his face, blood flowing in a glittering ribbon down his chin. "You broke it," he burbled through the mess. "You're mine!"
While he was distracted, she raced past him and jumped up to the second stair. He heard her. His head snapped up arid he struggled to stand, his knees bent, one hand over his face and the other braced on the floor. For a terrible moment they both wete motionless, staring at each other. She thought about running up the stairs, but they were steep, double height, impossible for her to do anything other than climb carefully. Knowing that, she hesitated, two steps up, facing him, unwilling to turn her back on him and chance the stairs.
That was a mistake, she realized a moment later, as he sprang forward, leaping more like an animal than a man, covering the distance twice as fast as she expected.
Terrified, she stumbled backward up a step. In her head, she heard Leaplow's advice, "Whatever you do, don't let a man pin you. Hit him, keep hitting him, don't quit!"
She swung the basket high and brought it down like a club on the top of the doorjack's head. His feet slid on the tread and he landed on the floor at the bottom of the steps. From where she stood on the stairs, for once in her life, she was taller than her opponent. She took advantage of that fact. Sophraea thumped the heavy basket against his skull again and again.
With a yelp, the doorjack smashed into the floor of the basement. He didn't move.
For a long moment, Sophraea just stood there, breathing heavily, her fingers clutched tightly around the basket's handle. He still didn't move.
She edged back down the stairs, crept forward and tentatively put out a hand to see if he was dead or alive. The doorjack groaned and she jumped. But he didn't open his eyes, just whimpered a little and curled upon his side.
Sophraea circled cautiously around the unconscious man. She rerurned to the candle. With many glances back over her shoulder, she reached into the pile of lumber.
But the glint of gold was nothing more than the edge of a broken picture frame. The shoe was not there.
The doorjack groaned again. A quick search of the debris turned up several stout cords that had once been used to tie up sacks of flour. Sophraea lashed the man's hands and feet together, using the best knots her brothers had taught her. All she needed was a little time to find Gustin and get out of this house. With some regret for the destruction of a favorite garment, she tore the muslin flounce off her petticoat and gagged the doorjack.
Sophraea hurried back to the stairs. She looked up. The door at the top was firmly closed. She listened for a minute or two, but could hear nothing of the activity in the kitchen. With luck, nobody had heard her skirmish in the basement.
She shook out her skirts, gathered up her basket, and started up the stairs, only to turn around and go back down.
She scooped the half brick off the floor and dropped it into the basket. Gustin was right after all. You never knew when a good solid brick might come in handy.
Then Sophraea fled up the staircase to the warm kitchen above.
The cook, the laundress, and the other maids were still gathered around the table, gossiping amid a growing pile of peeled vegetables and folded linen.
"Did you finish your job, dearie?" asked the plump cook.
"Oh yes," answered Sophraea, edging around the table toward the stairs leading to the upper rooms.
"Thought I saw that Furkin go down the stairs to help you," said the cook, continuing to peel with quick strokes of her knife and not looking up.
Sophraea froze in place.
"Good thing you didn't stay down there with him," the cook continued. "He's not a nice man."
The other women were also intent on their work, none of them looking up but all nodding in agreement with the cook.
"He was quite polite to me," Sophraea lied, coming closer to the table. "In fact, he offered to stay down there and keep the rats away from our charms."